


The Final Conquest of Three Continents Watson

by FigmentFiction



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mind Games, Misunderstandings, Three Continents Watson, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FigmentFiction/pseuds/FigmentFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>REQUEST: Sick of Sherlock experimenting on him, John decides to turn the tables. He begins flirting incessantly with Sherlock, just to mess with his mind. Thing is, Sherlock totally falls for it. Hook, line and sinker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story for the kink meme on livejournal but ran myself into a hole writing it there. I enjoyed writing it so much that I'm bringing it back here for some major overhaul and to finish what I started!

_"How do you feel about the violin?"_  
" _I'm sorry, what?_ "  
" _I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other._ "  
  
Worst. PAH! Sherlock Holmes barely cracked the surface of his  _worst_  habits. One particular John Hamish Watson could attest to that, finding himself on the receiving end of a surprise hypodermic shot (how many Wednesdays has this been now?) containing a green mystery fluid ( _oh that color's new_ ). Had he known he'd become the personal test subject of a madman on a regular basis, he would have rejected the flat share at 221B, no matter how enticing the split cost would be... or how spectacularly brilliant said mad man was.  
  
"So help me Sherlock, you shoot me with an'other wun ov yur liqwids I won't avoid the teeth when I punch yo-... Sherlock did I just slur? Whuat wuz eeen that? Uh gawd..."  
  
John stumbled, vision now a complete whirl of color and feeling woozy. This was new, and VERY terrifying. John could hear the tell tale scritch-scratch of Sherlock's pocketbook as he took notes behind him. He could practically feel the smug satisfaction emanating from Sherlock (that bloody wanker) as John struggled further to get his footing as he made his way through the doorframe of their kitchen. He nearly tipped sideways and backwards over his chair as he entered the lounge, his depth perception entirely useless at this point.   
  
 _Stop moving, Watson!_  John chided himself. The more he moved, the more the drug took effect, and the more information he was supplying to Sherlock's experiment. No. He wasn't going to make this easy for this insufferable prat. He'd stand up for himself this time. Except, he was no longer upright. Face first on the hardwood floor wasn't exactly standing triumphantly with your fists on your hips like he'd imagined.  
  
With a low guttural groan and soft muttering of "ate yuu",  _Really Watson?_ , John let himself slip into the blackness of the drug, the clunk of expensive tailored oxfords making their approach.


	2. The Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The turn out for the first chapter is absolutely mind blowing to me, wow! Thank you all so much. 
> 
> I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long for chapter two! If you have seen my prompt fill on livejournal, you'll start to notice some changes in this chapter, and they'll start to become more frequent as the story progresses, so please give this chapter a re-read!

"I have HAD IT!"

John emerged from his room (when did he even get up there?), sandy blonde hair sticking up on one end and eyes still droopy from sleep, but a whirlwind of a man considering he had just been drugged by his flatmate.

Said flatmate was laying horizontally across the sofa, hands steepled under his chin deep in the recesses of his mind palace. John's voice must have echoed through the vast hallways in that boundless mind of his because Sherlock peeked a weary eye open to gaze at John fuming in the doorway.

Sherlock looked ethereal under the glow of the sun, dust dancing in and out of the rays of light cutting through the darkness that often hovered over 221B. Dust really was eloquent wasn't it? John reprimanded himself mentally and stood firm. He would not let the beauty of his flatmate dull his anger. Sherlock frowned and returned his gaze to the ceiling, both eyes closed again.

" _Had what_ , John? You're being incredibly vague," Sherlock scoffed, correcting his position on the sofa just a nudge with a pout. "You know I hate it when you're vagu-"

"I _hate_ it when I'm -- unwillingly I'll have you know -- experimented on! And I've had enough of that thank you very much!" John ran a hand through his hair, disheveling his look even further, clenching his teeth in obvious frustration. "Have you seen the time, Sherlock? I was to be at the clinic three hours ago. THREE Sherlock! The minute you start bringing money home to pay for this flat 'share', the sooner I can take days without calling ahead, which doesn't seem to be happening soon Mr. Righteous law!"

Sherlock raised a slender hand into the air, whirling it about as if to dismiss John's words which only served to fuel the army doctor's already peaking anger.

"I took the liberty of calling you in on sick leave for the week. I have other experiments I'd like to tr-"

"Oh no. Absolutely not! I will not be your guinea pig for an entire week! As a doctor I know that whatever you've planned here," John began, gesturing between them as if each experiment Sherlock was concocting was floating freely about the flat. "It's not healthy. And I will not condone another experiment just because 'the great Sherlock Holmes' says so!"

Sherlock snorted from the sofa at the vainglorious title he'd been given. Ever the romantic John Watson. And they called _Sherlock_ the dramatic one.

John could practically see the smug air emanating from his flatmate. With one swift move, which not only surprised himself but Sherlock as well, John crossed the length of the room in two large strides, planting both his hands on either side of Sherlock's head to trap him in place, desperate to be heard. John leaned in uncomfortably close to make sure all of Sherlock's attention was focused on him. Sherlock flinched. The last time he had been so close to John like this, he’d had his nose busted outside of a hole in the wall take-away restaurant and had nearly been strangled to unconsciousness two times before that. All smugness gone, John felt confident to drive the nail home.

"I am a human being Sherlock, something I don't expect _you_ to understand, and I care about my 'transport'. Keep this up and I swear I won't hesitate to march out that door and find a new flat."

John almost felt sorry for Sherlock in that moment, looking somewhat stunned and just a bit hurt by John's open willingness to leave him behind.

“But you wouldn’t… would you?” Sherlock asked, his demeanor oozing uncertainty as his pale eyes scanned John’s face for a clue.

“Don’t test me, Sherlock Holmes,” John spat. Pity would get him nowhere and he needed to teach Sherlock a lesson. "Is. That. _Clear_?"

Just as soon as that uncertainty had surfaced, it was smothered by Sherlock’s usual mask of indifference and frustration. Sherlock made to shove John aside but John halted Sherlock's offense by the wrist which, apparently, had been the wrong move.

John found himself settled above an out of breath red faced flatmate, his knee making itself right at home between Sherlock’s thighs on the sofa, and his mind wondered, however briefly (Damn!). Of course the ever observant consulting detective had picked up on that wondering (as was his job) and flushed a much deeper shade of red. It wasn’t so much out of shared arousal as it was embarrassment and anger. Or at least… that’s what John assumed.

John could feel the fast paced thud of Sherlock's pulse under his grip on his slender wrist. Elevated. John's deep blue gaze turned on Sherlock’s, now fixed horrified at John’s knee. John had to have seen the realization on Sherlock’s face when he finally looked up, dilated eyes locked onto John's own. John felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, air leaving his lungs with a whoosh. Sherlock wrung his wrist free and shoved John aside, successfully this time, John tumbling over the side of the sofa with a thud.

" _Crystal_ ," Sherlock muttered, a familiar distant look crossing his features. Sherlock's figured something out. But John didn't have enough time to question Sherlock about it. The enigmatic mad man stormed off to his room, slamming the door in his wake, leaving a dazed John Watson alone beside the sofa trying to fit the wrong puzzle piece into an empty slot.

_What the bloody hell was that?_


	3. The Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Three Continents Watson to come out of retirement and make one last conquest.

Sitting beside the sofa where he was eloquently shoved moments prior, John Watson pondered his current state of distress and how he had come to find it.

 

In all the years that John had spent living under the same roof as one whirlwind, Sherlock Holmes, he had never so much as glimpsed at such a look as the one he had just seen crossing his flatmate’s features. One such look resembling a flustered state of curiosity, arousal, and anger. For all John knew, Sherlock was a virgin and wished to remain as such. He’d never once mentioned past love interests, girlfriends… hell even boyfriends around John. Old friend Greg Lestrade and even brother Mycroft Holmes remained aloof to the inner workings of Sherlock’s heart.

 

But what John had seen… well, now that changes everything doesn’t it? John rubbed a tired hand over his face, sighing deeply with the weight of what could possibly be looming over him.

 

Three Continents Watson. That’s what they used to call him. Actually, they probably still do. He is renowned over three continents after all, among both women and men. After being discharged from the army however, John chose to set aside his “risky business” life and resided to being a closeted bisexual. What man, perfectly capable of handling himself and his business, would want to care for a broken old model anyhow?

 

It wasn’t until he met Sherlock Holmes in the lab of St. Bartholomew’s one faithful day that he began to think otherwise. _Gosh that man is bloody gorgeous_. Walking talking sex on two legs, and here he was, chatting up John like he knew him for years. John had never been so star struck in his life. He knew, from that moment on, that if there was ever a man who could accept John as he was, it would be Sherlock Holmes, and he would be the last man John ever pursued.

 

However, past and recent events concerning The Woman and John’s poor marriage choices forced Three Continents Watson to retire for good. Pursuing Sherlock would be unrequited and futile… or, at least it would have been up until a few moments ago.

 

A few moments ago when Sherlock Holmes, with John’s knee slotted comfortably between his legs as if it bloody well _belonged_ there, was openly flustered. John hoped to goodness, in his lust for his flatmate, that he wasn’t just imagining the whole damn thing. 

 

John let his head fall against the cushion of the couch as he searched the ceiling for answers. What was it that Sherlock would say? _“It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts”_? He is right too ( _always is the bloody git_ ). Was that John’s goal? It didn’t seem too terrible an idea, turn the tables for once on the roles in this flat. Doctor Watson giving insufferable Sherlock Holmes a taste of his own medicine… Sherlock did say he'd called John out of work for the week. So help him if John decided to make the best of it. If Sherlock was allowed to conduct experiments on John without his consent, John had full right to do just the same to Sherlock. 

 

He began to weigh the options. If the experiment failed, there'd be no real repercussion (except maybe the shattered ego of an army doctor) and things could resume as they were. If all went well, he just might get something worth while out of it.

 

A small smile curled the corners of John’s lips as the thought crossed his mind. That settles it then. John rose to his feet, dusting off his trousers. Time for Three Continents Watson to come out of retirement and make one last conquest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I've been absolutely rubbish at keeping a schedule! I hope you don't think I've abandoned you. I was much better at this sort of thing when I was still in Uni. But for the record I do not plan to let this story die out. It will be completed, if that adds any sort of comfort. And sorry this update is so small! Just a little insight on what's going on with John.
> 
> AND GOSH 90 KUDOS? YOU GUYS ARE RIDICULOUS I'VE ONLY JUST STARTED THE BLOODY THING. Seriously thank you so much for enjoying my silly writings and for your support. Hopefully I won't keep you waiting very long for the next chapter!


	4. The Apology

It was several hours later when the patter of familiar steps echoed through the floorboards below his bedroom, ascending the stairs towards the flat, that Sherlock began to stir from his post stroop mind palace retreat. Sherlock bolted to his room immediately after his and John’s scuffle on the sofa, if one would call it that.

 

John’s reaction wasn’t all that unusual. He tended to run hot given certain stresses Sherlock put him under. He had once punched Sherlock square in the nose, but not before tackling him to the ground in two restaurants upon Sherlock announcing, unceremoniously, his ‘not dead’ status. _All in one night Sherlock_ might add. And let’s not forget that clock to the cheek ( _though much more reserved than the nose thankfully. Nobody enjoys a broken cheekbone_ ) that John delivered before consulting Irene Adler. But this… This was nothing like those times. There was some underlying unresolved tension that had somehow built up between them and bubbled to the surface during this, _we’ll call it a scuffle_ , but no matter how deeply Sherlock searched the drawers of his palace, he came up blank.

 

The knee to the crotch certainly didn’t help matters any. What should have made John uncomfortable, hadn’t seemed to faze him at all.

 

John Watson, ever the unfolding mystery.

 

It was the aroma of thai food creeping through the cracks in the doorframe that made Sherlock take action. His stomach growled in impatience, without any case to distract him from his transport’s needs. Sherlock groaned inwardly, having to tackle the problem head on eventually. It was impossible for them to stay away from each other forever. For now, he would just enjoy a regular dinner of take-away with John and they could forget about the whole ordeal in the morning like they normally did. Easy peasy.

 

—

 

John was putting the last piece of silverware into place when he heard the latch of Sherlock’s bedroom door click open. John quickly rounded towards the iPod dock and pressed play in time to turn around, catching a glimpse of Sherlock entering the hallway from his bedroom. He always did seem to have impeccable timing concerning one Sherlock Holmes. Tonight should be no different.

 

Upon noticing a casual but thoughtfully tailored John Watson (gingham shirt, worn during John’s stag do, _still one of John’s favorites_ , neatly pressed) standing in their kitchen filled with the amazing aroma of hot food (ordered from Sherlock’s favorite tai restaurant half way across town, explains the stomach growling, _familiarity, association, Pavlov_ ) and soft sounds of a concerto playing dimly as background noise from the iPod dock, Sherlock’s eyebrows darted towards his hairline. 

 

“Apology dinner,” John supplied eagerly, a sheepish smile tugging the corners of his lips.

 

“Hmm…” was all Sherlock could muster as a response. John could swear he noticed a small flush cross Sherlock’s features as those light piercing eyes crossed from candle to candle placed about the take-out boxes in a way only John could make appear eloquent. Maybe John was too eager…

 

“For earlier,” John coughed, breaking the silence and regaining Sherlock’s inquisitive sharp gaze. Sherlock's eyes are a stunning array of bluish-green. Had they always been that luminescent?

 

The picture of skepticism, Sherlock's brow furrows and he squints harshly, clearly not sure what to make of the affair John had set before him.

 

“I’m not sorry about what I said or how I said it. I’m still bloody pissed at you, you know?” John was quick to defend. “I don’t appreciate you experimenting on me night and day without my consent, but I didn’t have to get so… erm… physical with you. I know I tend to run a bit-“

 

“Hot,” Sherlock interrupted, eyes still fixed on the table arrangement, causing John to sputter for a moment caught off guard.

 

“Hot…” John repeated, mulling it over on his tongue. Surely that was an indirect off handed response. _Prat._ “Right. Yeah. I was going to say high-strung but hot works too.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, though half-heartedly, urging John to get to the point and quickly. His stomach supplied the verbal response. 

 

John got the hint immediately, rounding the table to stand beside his friend. “Are we good?” John inquired, placing his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. _Physical contact. Step one of several too wooing one’s flatmate._  

 

They locked gazes as Sherlock finally acknowledged John by his side. Sherlock blinked in rapid succession for a second before replying. _Step two, eye contact._  

 

“Of course,” Sherlock answered, nodding his head minutely in response. 

 

“Good,” John grinned. He took Sherlock’s hand in his own, guiding him around the opposite side of the table to seat him. _Closest to the music AND I get to hold his hand longer._ Sherlock allowed himself to be guided by John, not seeming to notice any of the subtle changes in John’s demeanor or just helpfully ignoring them.

 

It was nice… Holding Sherlock’s hand like this. He ran warm, much to John’s surprise. He had held Sherlock’s hand before of course, but it was usually during a case, chasing down a suspect or fleeing from the scene of the crime. Now? Now there was no hurry, no distraction, plenty of time to catalogue. John could feel the callouses from the violin rubbing at the back of his own hand, giving him a bit of a chill. John found it surprising how intimate this hand holding business could be with your flatmate, especially since Sherlock made no apparent motion to let go.

 

John helpfully guided Sherlock into his own chair, pulling it out for him to sit and pushing it back in once he had been seated. John arranged the two chairs in the kitchen carefully. One chair stood at the end and another just off the corner so they had to sit close (all the better to brush knees ‘accidentally’). John claimed it was to better hear Sherlock over the music and Sherlock, of course, questioned why there was even music on at all. Ambiance. _Setting the mood, another of John’s meticulously planned flirtation steps._  

 

Flashing a smile, John handed Sherlock the first take out box, their fingers brushing against one another during the pass. John smiled.

 

“Shall we begin?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry this took as long as it did. I didn't want to half ass a chapter after you've all been so outstanding. I hope it was worth the wait!


	5. The Focus

Dinner went off without a hitch. Once the air was cleared of any tension, the duo talked just as casually as they always had. Sherlock remained skeptical of the whole ordeal, John could tell. It was in the hesitation of Sherlock's words or a peculiar squint of his eyes as if he were in scrutinizing John’s topics of conversations or the interesting new way he chose to eat his food. _Slowly. Maintain eye contact_.

 

They reminisced on old cases, laughed openly and jovially, and ate until their heart’s content, bellies full and both immensely satisfied, especially John. Nothing quite like winning over a man’s heart with food, especially when said man was a particularly messy eater of take-away. Sherlock had taken a large bite of his curry not very long ago, leaving behind a smudge of the sauce on the corner of his lip. Sherlock felt it of course, swiping at it with his napkin almost immediately. Thankfully for John, Sherlock had missed. 

 

_In due time Watson, in due time. Let it build to that moment…_

 

“Then,” Sherlock laughed, pausing in his story to calm to something more akin to a chuckle. His laugh was so unlike his usual sultry baritone. He’d crescendo into giggles that were so high he barely sounded like himself. Almost child like. God, it was contagious. John couldn’t help but snicker himself. “He started rattling on about how fascinating the alphabet was, do you remember that? Of course you do, you’ve written about it. The Red-Headed league you so aptly titled it.”

 

John laughed just as heartily right beside him, remembering that case well. Both had paused in the stairwell after leading their client to the door, struggling for breath as they laughed just out of earshot. Though they may as well have laughed in the man’s face, he could hear them from the other end of the door. “And then he banged on the door for us to stop laughing, christ! I remember that!” John confessed though his laughter. Some moral compass he was. They were _both_ allowed to laugh sometimes… The nature of the whole case itself was bloody absurd. Though, John supposed, if he were offered anywhere near the amount their client was to copy the dictionary verbatim, he may have taken the job himself without much questioning. Harmless thing to copy from a dictionary. It wasn’t as if he were fighting for his life in Afghanistan.

 

“More wine?” John offered as he calmed, Sherlock holding his empty glass to John for a top off. Somewhere amidst it all, John got up to retrieve a bottle to have with dinner. He didn’t account for getting Sherlock a bit tipsy in the process but he could certainly work with it. 

 

It was a very bad thing to say, but John enjoyed when Sherlock drank. His impenetrable walls came down for a time and John was fortunate enough to get a glimpse of just who that man was underneath his hard exterior. He was quite funny actually, when he wasn’t trying so hard. Though John had always found him funny in his own quirky way. Sherlock was boisterous like this. He picked fights in bars over a dispute about his knowledge of tobacco ash, and he was easy to coheres into playing ridiculous games. It was nice, like this… _Not drunk of course, John that wouldn’t be a very good thing to think_. Just, carefree and vulnerable. Sherlock did have appearances to keep after all. His job didn’t allow for him to be perceived as ‘human’. It would be too easy for people to take advantage of him otherwise, and Sherlock liked to be taken very seriously. John was just glad that if Sherlock were to be vulnerable with anyone, that he chose John at the end of the day.

 

Speaking of appearances…

 

A small smile pulled at the corners of John’s lips, as he watched Sherlock side eye him over the rim of his glass with a smirk of his own. “What, do I have something on my face?” Sherlock inquired, brow furrowed but smirk unwavering in picture perfect scrutiny.

 

“Yeah actually. Wait a sec…” John squinted, running his hands along the side of Sherlock’s face. He cupped his cheek, turning Sherlock’s face to meet his own. Sherlock’s brow arched in confusion, regarding John. “Here, let me…”

 

Without waiting for Sherlock’s approval, John swiped his thumb along the edge of that plush bottom lip, moving slowly to the corner where the real curry stain was. John moved the pad of his thumb with intent, beginning at the bottom of the lip, covering the whole of it with the pad of his thumb, bringing the heel of his hand to rest at the bottom of Sherlock’s chin as he finally whipped away the offending stain. Without thinking a thing of it, John brought his thumb to his lip, tasting what he’d found there.

 

A bright red hue bloomed over Sherlock’s cheeks as he watched John slip the pad of his thumb into his mouth, eyes wide in disbelief. _Oh, that do something for you did it_?

 

“Curry,” John supplied with a smirk, as if his tasting of his friend’s food from said friend’s face was just a normal occurrence between them. As if he weren’t living out some fantasy of his own about those ridiculous lips. _They were just as pillowy as he’d always thought they would be_ …

 

John rose from the meal, collecting Sherlock’s plate and take-away containers with nothing but a smile, leaving a blinking detective in his wake. The night went just as he planned, if not better in fact. It all felt natural, as if they’d been flirting all this time and they just never acted on it. Huh. Funny that. He would give Sherlock the day tomorrow so as to not suspect much. Only accidental and casual flirting, this is an experiment after all. One’s test subject cannot be privy to the fact that it is, in fact, an experiment. The results could be disastrous…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new chapter! I, FINALLY, was able to write something I was happy enough to hand over to you all :') Featuring bonus tipsy Sherlock.


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